Dearest Rachel –
It seems like half a lifetime ago (possibly because, when you come down to it, it was) that you and I would find ourselves in the church balcony of a Sunday morning. It wasn’t so much a matter of trying to be inconspicuous (although, when you’re carrying a small baby who might burst into tears at any moment, there is a bit of that) or that we arrived late, necessarily (it’s possible that having to get the three of us together and out the door did tend toward that; again, we weren’t accustomed to the third member of our party yet, and the effects he might have on our punctuality), but it was a customary thing for us, a long time ago.
While those reasons did contribute to our being there, part of it was also due to the fact that the (at the time) single computer controlling the screen in front was situated there, so as to be unobtrusive to the main congregation. It’s amazing to realize just how long I’ve been doing this sort of thing at church, and how far we’ve advanced since then, both in terms of technology itself, as well as the amount of both equipment and manpower to properly convey the desired atmosphere for worship.
Of course, since then, a more intricate and sophisticated setup was built at the flagship location, and with the construction of the first satellite campus, a custom-built production booth came into being. Neither location required me to ‘work’ in a balcony any longer (and indeed, for others on duty, such a location would be counterproductive, as they wouldn’t have a suitable handle on the acoustics that the congregation would be dealing with). Meanwhile, as Daniel grew and matured, there was no longer any need to conceal ourselves as a family while we attended and worshipped as participants, rather than in one serving role or another. As a result, the days of spending Sunday mornings looking over the sanctuary floor from on high grew to become a distant memory, not unlike so many vignettes of the past.
Thus, yesterday morning felt like something to remember, if only for the fact that we hadn’t been here in so long. But, you might ask, what compelled us to be there in the first place? Why go out of our way to go back there, when there’s a perfectly serviceable congregation half as far away?
It’s a good question, and one that I’m not completely prepared to go into motives about. Suffice to say, however, that the very fact that it had been so long – and that it would be very long before it would happen again – provoked me to arrange this walk down memory lane, as well as also trying to make one last connection before we disperse.
At which point, I’m sure another question is arising within you, “who do you mean by ‘we’?” But in a way, it ought to be somewhat obvious: the girls, of course – well, two out of three, anyway. Such are the benefits of a limited circle of friends; the cast list is rather predictable in terms of who might motivate me to appear at one place or another. As this was the last weekend I wouldn’t spend working in the booth before leaving town, I thought I might just visit the Des Plaines campus, and spend the service in their company. I don’t know why it is – or maybe I do, and I’m not willing or able to spell it out for myself just yet – it feels more like a family when Daniel and I are joined by a female presence, especially in church.
I made a point of contacting Erin first, to see if and when she might be attending services at Des Plaines – unlike Kerstin, who would occasionally join us at Randhurst, I couldn’t expect her to shift locations at the drop of a hat. Indeed, she acknowledged that, in the moment, she didn’t even know (between her parents being in town – which I hadn’t known about, but she obviously wasn’t obligated to tell me about until it came up as an issue – and her hopes to go out running at some point that morning) when or whether, but would let me know as soon as she came to a conclusion. However, by the time I woke up yesterday morning, I realized I would need to know as soon as possible, so that Daniel and I could make other arrangements if she wasn’t able to attend. So, I repeated the question, at which point, she hazarded that she could probably make it to the early service, but would probably be late, and would thus sneak into the balcony.
And that’s where we situated ourselves to wait for her. Meanwhile, I’d also contacted Kristen at this point, because, since she would be going out of town, too, this would be a last chance for us to get together with her as well. Besides, she’d left behind a bag at our house with a few containers of yogurt (among other things), and I needed to return that to her before she left for her assignment in your hometown.
There was something a little surreal about returning to a place you’ve known so well, but haven’t been to in years. Even the fact that, upon entering the balcony, we were immediately greeted by someone we hadn’t seen in so long (but who promptly recognized us) made it seem both alien and like home at the same time; I honestly don’t know how else to put it. It felt that much more like home once the girls arrived, even as it also still felt a little strange. After all, this was a dynamic I was familiar with, but the characters involved were different; how comfortable could I allow myself to get?
At least I could distract myself from such questions by taking copious notes during the sermon; the more that I behaved like I would on any other Sunday, the less it might feel strange, I think I concluded. This did have a slightly convicting effect on me as one of the points was that we focus too much on our own wants as opposed to what God might want for us; like the beggar at the gate of the temple, we content ourselves with the few coins that might be thrown our way, never dreaming of the possibility of receiving a cure from any of the passersby. To be sure, while I might admit to being “lame” (hey, I know full well I have never been “cool”), I don’t necessarily see myself as being literally so, and so the idea of receiving a ‘cure’ is a little difficult to imagine, since I don’t even recognize my own ailment, or what could be done about it.
And in all honesty, such thoughts were shunted aside by the end of the service, as Kerstin filled us in on her situation, and we slowly made our way downstairs to mingle with the few that were still left in the lobby thereafter. We spent the entirety of the passing period between services catching up with one person or another – and we may have caused at least one to miss the first song of the second service – both trying to explain our presence here without going into too much detail, as well as updating certain interested parties of Dad’s situation.
I wonder if, once I return, I should make more of a point to coming back here on a regular basis, just to keep in touch with those we left behind to head to Randhurst. Maybe once a month or so, depending on my assignments? We’ll have to see.
Until then, honey, continue to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 